April 2009

LIVING MY DREAM A wish, a dream, a desire, a longing; “Just enjoy life,” my mother told us, her children. She sometimes reminded us that life is too short; words no younger person, to whom life seems endless, understands. To them there is no thought of the end of hanging out with friends, of parties and dancing into the sunrise, of stuffing themselves with hamburgers and French fries washed down with chocolate milk shakes and of always being together. But as 60 draws near there is suddenly a realization, a need to rush, to dust of old dreams before the last chance for them to come true passes. With the approaching of 60 comes anger at having spent years punching clocks and trying to please people who cannot be pleased, keeping your mouth shut so the rent can be paid and food put on the table, and of judging your success by what you own. Sixty brings memories of fun and opportunities missed because of some warped idea of adult life. There comes the realization of watching life slip away while a feeling grows in the pit of a now bigger stomach. You, as I, fear growing old dreaming and saying, “I wish I had.” I am taking the plunge to reach the dream I longed to be my life, the one I did not want to face at the close of my life saying, “I wish I had.” This is a risk. This may make my life crumble and leave me with nowhere to live and nothing to live on. Even worse this may keep others from riding into the sunset towards their dreams. Instead, I hope to inspire others to let go, take the risk, the leap and let themselves fly. My first life of travel was not a choice but a way of life for my family with my father dressed in a crisp uniform standing tall, straight, and still. My mother made wherever we were home so only the location changed and every place with welcoming adventure was the best in the world. Sundays were days of driving, looking at our new city and state, making up games using license plates, and looking out with childish excitement for ant wildlife that ventured into sight. Perhaps this early life ingrained the need to travel, to see skylines of different blue and pink hues, to sit in grass to hear fiddles and violins send notes twirling into the air, and to talk, oh, yes, to talk with strangers to become friends never to be seen again but always remembered and introduced in new conversations. My dream is to travel this magnificent country in an RV. My dream is coming true. These are the tales of my travel as they happen. Some will be exciting and interesting. Some will be dull and uneventful. Bits of my life will be woven in between. Of course there will be many stories about my traveling companions; three spoiled little dogs that some may say are my children. Eddie is a Cocker Spaniel adopted 10 years ago from the pound. Being blind and deaf now has not slowed him down much. Princess, who lives up to her name, came into the family from the pound two years ago. She is about 10 now and runs the house. One year old Charlie joined us last November after being in a foster home with small dog rescue. Here we go into the sunset, living my dream.

I spent $70 more to fill the propane tank this month than I did in December. The previous tank emptied very quickly so I mostly live in the bedroom until spring.  I can heat the one room with a small electric heater and save money. Why is my heat propane? Because I live in a 5^th wheel RV.

When I first had to retire one my biggest fears was being homeless. I could not envision myself as one of the women who held their meager belongings in torn brown paper and dirty plastic bags perhaps in a grocery cart. In reality I could move back to Connecticut to live with one of my siblings. But leave Washington, my home for 34 years? The thought made me feel the same as I did when thinking of being homeless. I came to Seattle when I was 26, barely an adult. I fell in love with the beauty and less hurried life. I do better in rain than in snow. I love the summer without sweltering heat and unforgivably high humidity.  Not to be homeless I bought a 10 x 21 foot motor home.

The plan was to travel to different music festivals during the summer and maybe head south for the winter. My health prevented me from following this plan. Instead I ended up parked in my older brother’s back yard. At first the small space was not a problem because I mostly slept and watched DVDs. As my health slowly improved, the motor home started to close in around me. After moving from my brother’s to an RV park I traded my little house in for a 5^th wheel. Moving from the motor home to the 5^th wheel was like moving into a mansion. There was so much room I didn’t think I would ever fill it. (Of course I filled it.) Now I can work on craft projects, cook more easily, and wash in a real shower. I have a home and a small yard that I fill with flowers in the spring.

Welcome to Ayo’s Pages. This blog will document the development of my life following a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI.) There will be plenty of flashbacks to my life before the injury. My life was full of accomplishments, music, dance, learning, and, most of all, fun. Ayo’s Pages will also, hopefully, get me writing again. Writing has always given me a great deal of pleasure and release. The thoughts here are my own, my life, life in general, news events, and whatever interests me on the day I write.

I always thought I’d act and think like what I thought adults were like. Fortunately I was wrong. I continue to have a heart of a child and a longing for fun. Maybe that is why I enjoy being with little kids so much. Kids and animals love me. My mother said this is because I never grew up. She still said it after I earned my Ph.D.  So now at 61 years old I do adult things but my smile and laughter give away the child in me.  

So let me get the story out of the way. In September 2002, I was at a tavern in Connecticut with one of my sisters and one brother to hear another sister’s band. (Following it so far?) The band was jammin’ and I was dancing, becoming overcome by the music, twirling, and my hips swaying. Music takes me to a high not everyone is allowed to enjoy. Dance is freedom. And then, as if in slow motion, I watched myself fall to the floor. I’m told two white men got into a fight; one shoved the other who hit against me. Hitting my head on the band’s monitor, I was knocked out. I mention that two white men because two Mexican men were charged and convicted of starting the fight even though they didn’t. My family and the band were the only black people in the Tavern. I was the first injured and the last the EMTs helped. My sisters told me the story of what happened. I remember very little of that night. My sister, the attorney, also said I was the last one seen by a doctor in the emergency room. People who are knocked unconscious are usually kept in the hospital overnight for observation. I was sent home. Fine by me; Mom was a registered nurse. I couldn’t get better care.

So now, a little over 12 years later I am building a new life. I miss my previous life but how many people are given the opportunity to build a whole new life. Of course I have some limitations and challenges but I can work with them. Let’s see what happens.